


Gradual Ardor

by porcelainepeony



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-03-15 05:33:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13606599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/porcelainepeony/pseuds/porcelainepeony
Summary: Soon-to-be drabble/ficlet collection. Rating will probably range from entirely innocent and cavity-inducing fluff to... well, smut... pointless smut. I'll add warnings and all that jazz.





	1. Chapter 1

**Word Count:** ~450  
**Notes:** Thus begins my adventure in “let’s see how many drabbles I can write for THIS otp” :’D  
**Rating:** G(ay)

xxx

Spectre couldn’t sleep. Not because the new bed he rested on was uncomfortable, nor because he wasn’t warm and secure. He couldn’t sleep because the room in which he found himself in was silent. The feeling of being trapped in a room was unlike the freedom he felt whenever he escaped to the outside world. If the wind wasn’t singing and ruffling leaves and branches into a waltz, the distant howl of a wolf or the gentle skidding of small animals would create melodies to which Spectre could fall asleep.

But Spectre wasn’t at the orphanage anymore, and the beloved tree he had come to cherish no longer stood where it once flourished.

The sound of a light knock echoed in the quiet room, and before Spectre could answer, the door open, soft light melting into the darkness.

“I knew you couldn’t sleep,” the boy who had rescued Spectre whispered.

Immediately, excitement laced with a sense of despair rushed through Spectre’s lungs, and he sat up, meeting Revolver’s gaze. “I can’t. It’s too quiet,” he confessed, wanting nothing more than to get out of bed and join Revolver in more conversation. Despite having only known Revolver for the better part of a day, Spectre felt wildly attached to him, as if they had known each from lifetimes before. It was easy to talk to Revolver, who also happened to be the only one who had ever wanted Spectre’s company in the first place. “There was always someone crying at the orphanage. And when I slept outside, the--”

“You slept outside?” Revolver questioned, voice somewhat shocked.

Spectre shrugged, pale cheeks budding into bright pink roses. “I used to...”

“You won’t have to ever again,” Revolver promised, closing the door behind him. He approached Spectre’s bedside and smiled, “I’ll make sure of that.”

Had his beloved tree remained where it once stood, Spectre would have liked to sleep outside again, lost in the purity and solace of nature. But with its comforting branches gone, Spectre clutched to Revolver’s words like a beggar grasped at fallen coins. “Is that a promise?” Spectre asked, scooting on the bed, making space for Revolver to lie beside him.

Spectre had no idea what Revolver saw in him, nor why he went out of his way to find him and bring him back to his home. But Spectre liked the attention, and he liked warmth that seeped into his body as Revolver rested beside him. Though he was unable to see Revolver in the dark, Spectre could hear the boy’s breathing—calm and steady like a gentle stream—and before he could thank Revolver, Spectre found slumber in the melody of Revolver’s breath and the way he assured Spectre that his words were indeed a promise.


	2. Chapter 2

**Word Count:** ~785  
**Rating:** Mature I guess? In the second vignette...  
**Notes:** I’ll just be here, waiting for VRAINS to reveal Revolver’s eye color SO I CAN DELETE THIS PIECE BECAUSE I JUST KNOW HIS EYES WON’T BE GOLD/YELLOW IN THE END. And I will laugh at myself but hey :D It’s all good, right?

So where do all the Revolver/Spectre fans hang out? I need someone to… cry with. Plot with. ~~Share dirty fantasies with /shot~~

~~Edit (06/04/2018): His eyes were indeed not gold. LMAO I'm late but I have to make this side note okay? XD~~

xxx

The first time Revolver kissed him, Spectre’s eyes widened, confusion swirling like cirrus clouds in a clear blue sky. His heart ceased beating for a breath, starting a wild race not a second after. Spectre swore the drumming was loud enough to crack ribs and burst eardrums, but if Revolver sensed the orchestra within Spectre’s chest, he paid it no mind, preferring to tilt Spectre’s head to the side and glide his tongue past Spectre’s lips.

The sun shone brightly that day, grass and leaves glimmering as Spectre caved, grabbed Revolver’s shoulders, and pulled him closer. Revolver tasted of tea, earthy and soothing and warm.

When Revolver pulled away, Spectre slowly opened his eyes—when had they drifted shut?—and stared into what was none other than salvation itself. Golden eyes caught the sunlight, stole its glory, and shimmered like glittering flecks of precious metal buried in sand. Spectre knew he was blushing, swore he could see the flush upon his cheeks in the reflection of Revolver’s gaze. But when Revolver smiled and closed the distance between them once more, the only thing that mattered to Spectre was the embrace in which he found himself melting.  

x

The tangle of limbs and symphony of hushed moans happened so suddenly that Spectre swore it was a dream.

Daring to steal a kiss, Spectre pressed his lips delicately against Revolver’s and wove fingers through downy, alabaster strands. Revolver’s response landed them atop messy bedcovers, where clothes and blankets shuffled and mixed before toppling to the ground in abandon. Hot breath tickled Spectre’s neck, while lips and tongue tasted and savored pale skin, drawing throaty whines and needy moans. Spectre closed his eyes, back arching off the bed, legs trembling as hands smoothed over sweaty skin, as fingertips pressed into hips and thighs, as fingers and tongue teased and tormented aching flesh.

Revolver was warm— _addictingly_ so—and his heart raced as madly as Spectre’s, matching the chorus of gasps and groans that filled the air, harmonizing with the headboard crashing into the wall, complimenting the melody of flesh desperately meeting flesh.

Digging nails into skin, Spectre clung onto Revolver, thighs quivering, voice breaking, erection twitching between their bodies. Lips met. Words faded into breathy pleas. The world burst into color.

Spectre awoke pinned beneath Revolver’s weight, breathless and sore and elated. In that moment, as his arms wrapped around Revolver’s frame, Spectre had never felt more alive, more wanted, more--

Revolver chuckled against Spectre’s ear, pressing a sleepy kiss against the lobe before whispering secrets for only slumber to hear.

Spectre’s heart skipped, and he realized he had never felt more worthy.

x

Spectre always knew his and Revolver’s story would end before it ever truly began. He knew Revolver was ready to give up his life for the Knights of Hanoi’s cause. And he knew, when the day came, he, too, would willingly give up his life, if only to join Revolver in death, if only to be by Revolver’s side for a little while longer, if only--

_If only you and I could meet in the next lifetime._

Knowing could not prepare Spectre for the inevitable goodbye, for it was the kind that lingered on his lips in the same way that caramel lingered on the tongue.

LINK VRAINS was always dark, yet when Revolver walked up to Spectre that day, Spectre swore the sun had burst into flames right before his eyes. He wanted to say something—wanted to plead with Revolver for some other, _better_ outcome—but he knew his place, and he had no right to question Revolver nor his motives or desires.

A gloved hand cupped Spectre’s cheek, and even though no blood ran through their veins, Spectre could feel warmth penetrating his skin. No words followed the tender display of affection, for no words were needed when the two souls had grown up together, when Revolver could blindly paint every last one of Spectre’s eyelashes, when Spectre could instinctively trace contour after dip after curve of Revolver’s frame. Instead, Spectre gave in to the touch and closed his eyes, head tilting slightly to the side, cheek nuzzling into Revolver’s palm.

Revolver’s thumb ghosted across Spectre’s skin, fingers then moving down his jaw and over his lips.

Before Revolver allowed his hand to drop, Spectre pressed a kiss against the gloved fingertips, promising to give everything—heart, life, _soul_ —for Revolver’s cause.

For the briefest of seconds, Revolver’s expression faltered, fingers trembling as they pulled away from Spectre’s lips. But the leader of the Knights of Hanoi was gone far too quickly, and all Spectre could do was wait for his orders and hope he would one day see Revolver smile again.


	3. Chapter 3

Word Count: 775  
Rating: It’s just angst and kids hugging okay  
Notes: I forgot how to English, so I’m sorry if this ficlet is all over the place. Also, I find their designs as kids to be super adorable, so here I am, making up scenes from when they were adorable children.  

Thank you for reading!

xxx

From the moment he placed his hand in Ryoken’s outstretched palm, Spectre knew Ryoken was as strong and unyielding as the very trees that stood around them. There was no falter in Ryoken’s movements, no alarm nor disgust nor hatred. Instead, fingers tightly— _securely_ —wrapped around Spectre’s hand, and the tug he gave—the one that lifted Spectre from the ground and nearly sent him tumbling against Ryoken—instantly saved Spectre from the darkness consuming his heart.

Even with delicate words and gentle smiles, Ryoken proved to be stronger than every person Spectre had ever known, for not even the rain’s melody nor the howling of the wind could disguise the protective hold around Spectre’s hand and the warmth that promised the lonely boy a home. From that moment, Spectre knew he wanted to defend the boy, and he swore with all his might that he would protect him from anything that threatened to destroy the gleam in his crystal blue eyes.

But he couldn’t, Spectre reminded himself time and again. As days turned to months, as Kogami’s imprisonment weighed on Ryoken’s guilt, as sadness and regret grabbed Ryoken’s heart and tore it to pieces, Spectre realized all he could do was watch as Ryoken disguised grief behind laughter.

There were nights when Ryoken would spend hours making Spectre laugh. Nights when the two would run outside to peer at the sparkling waters of Stardust Road. Nights when Ryoken would smile and remind Spectre that someone  _did_ care about him, that someone  _liked_ him and  _wanted_ him. But those nights were marred by reality—by nights when Spectre would awaken to the sound of stifled cries and muffled sobs.

Spectre wasn’t sure if his presence was known, if Ryoken was aware of Spectre’s saddened eyes watching from behind the open door. Regardless, Spectre would spend hours drowning in silence, tears flowing down his own cheeks as Ryoken cried in the darkness. Yet every day, come dawn, Ryoken would greet Spectre with a beaming smile, hardening his heart to all the suffering and pain.

“Why were you crying?” Spectre blurted one day, immediately regretting his voice. He knew  _why_  Ryoken cried so much—Spectre, too, had mourned the loss of his guardian—but Spectre couldn’t stand the thought of being unable to soothe Ryoken’s sadness. After all, if he couldn’t help Ryoken, what use would he ever be?

Though older, the twelve-year-old Ryoken was not much taller than Spectre. Perhaps that was why it was easy to rush forward and grab Ryoken when the child covered his face and began to sob.

Spectre’s heart immediately shattered. He regretted his words and hated that he had brought a flood of tears to Ryoken’s eyes. “Sorry,” he murmured, hands trembling as they encircled Ryoken. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” When Ryoken failed to reply, Spectre did what Ryoken had done so often for him—he pressed the boy close, cradled his head, and idly brushed his fingers through alabaster locks. The crying failed to ebb, however, so Spectre found himself closing his eyes, tightening the embrace. “You don’t have to cry alone anymore,” Spectre whispered— _promised_ —knowing all too well how it felt to have no one to wipe his tears. It hurt. More than anything else in the world, the loneliness hurt the most.

Remembering his own pain, Spectre ceased the embrace. Instead, he gently wrapped his fingers around Ryoken’s wrists to pull his hands away. Tear-stained cheeks glistened in the sunlight, but Spectre hands immediately cupped the reddened cheeks and attempted to dry the dampness. 

Ryoken’s eyes fluttered opened, crystal blue gaze meeting sky blue. Tears still pooled in the corner of Ryoken’s eyes, droplets clinging to lashes. “You’re strong,” Ryoken murmured, voice etched with heartache, but genuine in its endearment and affection for the boy tenderly holding his face.

Spectre’s eyes widened at the words, head already beginning to shake in disagreement.

Arms linked around Spectre before he could voice a confused complaint, and Ryoken’s chin quickly came to rest on Spectre’s shoulder. “Thank you,” Ryoken added, closing his eyes as the last of his tears escaped.

“I didn’t do anything,” Spectre assured the boy, slowly wrapping his own arms around Ryoken’s torso.

Ryoken breathed out softly, “You’re here. That’s enough.” Rather than releasing his hold, Ryoken tightened his arms, effectively rendering Spectre immobile. 

Spectre didn’t care though. If holding onto Ryoken as he cried was all Spectre could do for the boy who so fondly smiled at him despite his own grief, then Spectre would remain by Ryoken’s side, ready to dry his tears and remind him that he would never be alone.


	4. Chapter 4

Word Count: ~1070  
Rating: ~~s~~ M ~~ut~~  
Notes: Oh look, I wrote a smutty ficlet. I blame my sister for this idea. Actually, I blame her for a bunch of the smut I end up writing. Shout-out to my favorite perverted partner in crime. :’D This is sort of a reeeeeeally late bday fic for her lol.

xxx

The sighs were louder than trumpets and drums on parade, echoing in Spectre’s skull as the noise bounced off the walls and hit his ears. They came with such frequency, too, that Spectre had to wonder if Revolver’s LINK VRAINS form would develop wrinkles from all the frustration building in his cranium. Spectre didn’t think such a feat would be possible, but he couldn’t ignore the dissatisfaction etched into the corners of Revolver’s lips nor the disgruntled sighs that came exactly three minutes apart. 

Unsure if he should break the silence, Spectre approached Revolver slowly, his resolve to ease Revolver’s mind blooming like springtime blossoms inside his chest. “You’ve been lost in thought for almost an hour,” Spectre murmured, eyes glistening from the lights beaming from the screens in front of them. “Perhaps you should take a break.”

Revolver turned immediately, but shook his head. “There’s no time,” he replied, a sigh following the statement. 

Spectre frowned, slightly dejected. But his eyes could not tear away from the stiffness hugging Revolver’s shoulders and causing his beloved distress. 

Neither anticipated the sudden thud that boomed as Revolver’s back hit a wall that had not been there seconds ago. Before Revolver could register what was happening, Spectre sank onto his knees, hands running down Revolver’s chest, stomach, and thighs. “You’re tense,” Spectre whispered, allowing the side of his face to press close to Revolver’s groin. “I insist you take a break.” Despite the clothes separating them, Spectre could feel the heat of Revolver’s body beckoning him close.

“Allow me to help ease your mind, Revolver-sama.”

Revolver did not voice disapproval. Instead, he let his body relax into the touch, head pressing against the wall, legs trembling at the sight of Spectre on his knees. Fingers pressed into hips, while hungry lips kissed skin-tight fabric. Clothes were in the way, but Spectre knew clothes in LINK VRAINS was nothing but data, effortlessly deleted or manipulated, more easily discarded than clothes in the real world. And so, digging his finger’s along Revolver’s midsection, Spectre tore at the fabric, pulling it down over hips, revealing a growing erection and thighs begging to be devoured.

A different sort of sigh escaped Revolver’s lips, one desperate and needy. Gloved fingers weaved through Spectre’s hair, inviting Hanoi’s second-in-command to taste as he pleased.

Spectre grinned before wrapping fingers around Revolver’s length and placing his lips against the tip, delicately kissing the head. This time, a gasp echoed in the room, making Spectre’s heart quake and his own pants tighten. Yet Spectre could hardly focus on himself, for the hunger to consume Revolver—to rid Revolver’s mind of all thought and leave him yearning for Spectre’s touch and mouth and tongue—overpowered him. Slowly, Spectre took Revolver’s erection into his mouth, sucking the head, lapping at the tip, pulling away just enough so that frustrated whines reached his ears. But he quickly returned to the task each time, tongue eagerly circling the head, hand gently squeezing the shaft, lips softly grazing saliva-coated skin.

Soft moans filled the air around them, while the fingers in Spectre’s hair pulled and tugged, forcing Spectre to swallow more of Revolver’s member. Hips jerked. Thighs trembled. A shudder ran down Revolver’s spine. “Spectre,” he breathed, eyes closed, head furiously pressing into the wall.

But as quickly as Spectre had promised to ease Revolver’s mind, the warmth around Revolver’s erection was gone. The trembling remained, however, dancing in rhythm to Spectre’s fingers drawing mindless patterns along bare thighs.

A half-growl, half-grunt was Spectre’s only warning. Before he could fathom a thought, Revolver forced him to stand, smashed him against the very same wall Revolver had been trapped against, and tossed aside his visor. Lips smothered Spectre’s, swallowing a surprised gasp. Hands clutched at clothing, doing away with anything keeping skin from kissing skin.

“Weren’t you supposed to help ease my mind,” Revolver murmured against Spectre’s lips before turning him around.

Spectre chuckled softly and pressed his heated cheek against the cool wall. “You mean I’m not helping?” Spectre playfully cooed, holding back a moan as hands traveled down his back, over his hips, and across his lower abdomen.

Revolver’s lips busied themselves with pressing kisses against the back of Spectre’s neck and shoulder blades, offering only a smirk in reply before taking Spectre’s erection in his hand. A gasp reached Revolver’s ears, his satisfied expression growing as fingers mercilessly teased the slit to wetness. “You’re not,” Revolver finally answered aloud, pressing his lips against Spectre’s ear. “You’ve caused me only more frustration.”

“ _Ahh_ ,” Spectre replied, lower lip quivering as Revolver removed his hand and pressed slick fingers against his entrance.

It was Spectre’s turn to tremble, to fill the room with desperate moans, to curse his legs for shaking and threatening to collapse. The deeper Revolver pressed, the more Spectre’s body cried— _begged_ —for release. 

“Revolver-sama,” Spectre breathed, cheek splayed against the wall while his body squirmed at the delectable intrusion. “Revolver-sama… _please_.”

The fingers were gone. Instead, Revolver pressed the tip of his erection against Spectre’s puckered entrance and slammed inside. A loud moan ripped through Spectre’s throat, and he thanked whatever gods existed for the wall holding him up. Without pause, Revolver pulled out and buried himself inside Spectre once more, repeating the pattern with increasing haste. Fingers gripped hips tightly, while Spectre’s nails attempted to dig holes into the wall. A melody of groans and pleas filled the room. Spectre thought he heard Revolver moan his name, but all his mind registered were his own cries for _Ryoken_ as he closed his eyes and came, hips jerking forward, muscles tightening around Revolver’s crying erection.

When he finally opened his eyes, Spectre’s light turquoise gaze met a crystal sky blue one. Cheeks reddened slightly, but Spectre had no time to ask why they were both logged out, for Ryoken quickly sat on the couch beside him. With gentleness in his touch, Ryoken took Spectre’s chin in his hand and pulled him in for a kiss, set on repeating their earlier lovemaking somewhere a little more intimate.

A satisfied sigh—one that made Spectre’s heart flutter like that of a hummingbird’s wings—bubbled between their lips, and Spectre realized he much preferred it when _he_ was the cause of Ryoken’s sighs, for he knew it meant Ryoken was thinking of him. 

Only of him.

Spectre sighed blissfully as he melted into Ryoken’s touch.


	5. Chapter 5

Rating: G  
Word Count: ~100 words each   
Notes: Five drabbles (not necessarily connected) in which Ryoken slowly falls in love.

xxx

From the start, Ryoken knew Spectre didn’t like people. Scorn welded with melancholy and pain flowed from Spectre’s light turquoise gaze at the mere thought of others. 

Yet the way in which Spectre cradled the baby robin against his chest and stood meekly at the door radiated a sort of tenderness otherwise hidden within Spectre’s heart. 

“I can’t reach the nest,” Spectre explained, trembling with near anguish. 

Running to Spectre, Ryoken eyed the small creature with tenderness and smiled. “We’ll reach it together.”

Spectre blinked away tears, gaze twinkling as he flashed Ryoken a thankful, beaming smile. 

Ryoken’s heart raced.

xxx

“What’s this?” Ryoken asked, trying hard not to laugh at the deflated muffin nor Spectre’s look of complete and utter heartbreak.

“It’s supposed to be a muffin,” Spectre explained, glaring at the offensive cake. 

Ryoken swallowed a laugh, holding up the plate to examine the dessert, wondering if perhaps they shouldn’t feed it to some squirrels. 

“I thought you might like one. It’s your twelfth birthday today,” Spectre added.

“Huh?” Ryoken raised a brow. “How did…” The question faded as Ryoken glanced at the muffin, then at Spectre and his rose-kissed cheeks. Smiling warmly, Ryoken pulled Spectre into an embrace. 

xxx

Whenever he disappeared, Spectre was usually up in a tree, wasting time by watching the leaves blow. 

Ryoken was breathless when he reached the top and found him, yet he somehow managed to pull himself up and halfheartedly reprimanded Spectre for climbing so high. 

Spectre hid a grin, immediately placing a crown of leaves and vines atop Ryoken’s head. 

“You made this for me?” Ryoken asked, pulling at a vine, watching it curl back when released. 

Thinking Ryoken looked like a faerie prince, Spectre blushed when he nodded. 

Ryoken wondered if he could fashion a ring from leaves but decided a real ring would last longer. 

xxx

“Close your eyes,” Ryoken murmured, laughing softly as the boy of fourteen did as instructed. 

Spectre didn’t know what to expect when his eyes drifted shut, but Ryoken’s hands around his promised security, even as they tugged and ushered Spectre to follow in blind darkness. A moment later, Ryoken’s breath tickled Spectre’s ear, “Open them.”

A gasp floated in the air, eyes widening, heart dancing. The ocean before them sparkled, much like Spectre’s gaze. “It’s beautiful,” he said, delighted that Ryoken wanted him to see such a sight.

“Yes,” Ryoken whispered, gaze soft as it caressed Spectre’s joyful smile. “Beautiful.” 

xxx

Much like on the day they met, rain poured. Spectre stood outside, arms outstretched, hair and clothes drenched. 

Had he not known Spectre nor how much he loved the rain, Ryoken would have thought Spectre crazy. 

In reality, Ryoken was crazy, for he had dragged Spectre into an endless hell that would lead them to their deaths, had forsaken Spectre’s warmth for cyberspace’s cold touch, had ignored the throbbing in his chest despite Spectre’s unyielding affections. 

Ryoken’s heart drummed, urging him to run till he collided with Spectre. 

Soaked and laughing and momentarily forgetting everything, Ryoken cupped Spectre’s cheeks, closing the distance between them.


End file.
